


Funny. I don't remember him saying anything about slaves.

by Ithika



Series: Remorseless [8]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Before the show, Gen, Slavery, it's hard to be a pirate captain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 10:09:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10919664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithika/pseuds/Ithika
Summary: Vane discovers Rackham sent him to hunt a slaver, and remembers on the first time he'd been faced with balancing the demands of his crew against what he knows to be right.





	Funny. I don't remember him saying anything about slaves.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this when 3.01 aired, and I'd meant to write something of this nature before even that. I'm really slow? Yeah. I may edit this further yet, jumping between the past and present is hard. What even is tense? But honestly I just wanted to get this out into the world, so.

“You can’t do this, Charles. You don’t have the _authority_ to do it.” Vane’s hands had trembled as he’d listened to the unwanted, unwelcome truth tumble from his friend’s lips.

He _knew_ he couldn’t, and he didn’t need Rackham or anyone else to point out that this could cost him everything: his long-sought after captaincy; his reputation. Perhaps his life. Vane had paced circles in the quiet of that stateroom, livid that freedom seemed to be limited in the eyes of his men - that it was for some, but not others, this defined with something as arbitrary as a length of chain or the colour of a skin.

He’d known, of course, that Rackham was right. That a cargo of one hundred-fifty able-bodied slaves was not one any pirate crew would be willing to ignore. Not for him, at any rate. Perhaps they may have for Teach, but Charles - six months he’d held command of this ship, six months since he struck out on his own, determined that he be entirely his own man. Six months had been enough to impress upon his crew that he was a man worth following, and not only because of his association with the arch-pirate who’d mentored him - but six months against thousands of pieces of eight, well. Even then, Vane had known that the loyalty of most of these men was a thing bought and sold.

“I won’t _allow_ it.” The words had emerged slowly, bitten out from between clenched and grinding teeth. “What good is being captain if I must treat some men as brothers and others as beasts?”

“It’s not for you to allow or disallow. The money the crew would earn from selling them on--” Charles had held out a finger to silence his friend, blanched blue eyes set in a determined face.

“ _ **Fuck** _ that.”

“Is it worth your captaincy, Charles?” Jack had pressed his case, tried to impress reason upon his friend. “Your _life_?”

* * *

 

Rackham’s urbane voice echoes now through the long years that connect this day to that one. Every cultured syllable comes to him as clear as if he stood by his side as he looks down the glass, spying the prize he’d agreed to hunt for his friend and comrade. Vane’s long-suffering teeth grind against each other as he ruminates on what he sees, looking for an answer other than the obvious. But there was no denying that the ship which fled before his banner was a slaver, as had been the prize he’d taken so long ago.  

There could be no doubt, from the moment he’d seen the first man tumble over the gunwale of the Dutch ship.  There _was_ cold, sudden shock, the feeling sliding down his spine like a too-heavy bead of sweat before the warmth of that familiar rage and hunger for battle could quash it.

 _Jack had used him_. Used him for _this._ He was surprised by how much the deceit stung; Jack  _knew_ what it had cost him last time. And that man, of all of them, he’d come to truly think of as brother.

* * *

 

He hadn’t answered, that day. He had no words left, no patience for explaining, no tolerance for accepting that even in this place he _must_ do things simply because it was the way things were. But death wasn’t a thing he could surrender to, never was.

He’d taken Jack’s advice, and felt it cost him something very dear indeed.

The captain was scarce for the rest of the voyage, holed up in his cabin while the crew cajoled and crowed the joy of their victory into the infinite black ocean that sat staid and silent all about them, as the ship lit the night with firelight and drunken sounds of revelry. Vane felt something like condemnation in the stars those nights, and shunned them all, sickened.

Before the sun set on the day the _Ranger_ moored in Nassau, there was a commotion in the Guthrie warehouses; someone had failed to correctly lock the barracks where slaves were kept before relocation to the interior, and they had all fled. The young captain had made himself visible that night, drinking and brawling with his men- the lot of them drunk on the wealth of their plunder and the alcohol they’d so eagerly imbibed to celebrate it- and it was all too easy to slip away, though he'd felt Jack’s keen brown eyes on him from across the fire on the beach.

It was odd, on reflection - not one of those slaves he’d freed had ever shown up again in Nassau. At the time, he’d thought it somewhat of a futile gesture, but one he had to make; well did he know the difficulties presented to an escaped slave on an island.

* * *

 

Featherstone's so tense beside him that Charles wonders if Jack had explained the full history of this deceit, but he doubted it - he'd made no effort to hide his thoughts on slavery and those that perpetuated the practice. Vane’s eyes slide to the man beside him. Too quiet, all but holding his breath. Teeth grind against each other yet again, almost hard enough to be audible above the sounds of ship and sea. “Funny. I don’t remember him saying anything about slaves.”

**Author's Note:**

> Step by step, I overcome my fear of misusing semicolons. Thank you for reading! I welcome critique, if you're so inclined. :)


End file.
